


Dead Bones

by Wicked_Wayward_Warrior



Series: Dead Bones [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst and Romance, Black Character(s), Blood and Violence, Depression, F/M, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Reader-Insert, Tragic Romance, Witchcraft, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:28:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26802922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wicked_Wayward_Warrior/pseuds/Wicked_Wayward_Warrior
Summary: When Sam jumped into the pit with Michael and Lucifer, Dean and reader took a year off from hunting to focus on saving Sam and themselves. Dean allowed himself to love and trust someone else, and Reader got a glimpse at what normal could feel like. When Sam returned, their sense of normalcy erupted and they broke up. Now, a year later, they both find themselves struggling with life alone.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/You
Series: Dead Bones [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1954717
Kudos: 3





	Dead Bones

**Author's Note:**

> Since my brain is blocking me from focusing on the other projects I’ve been working on, I started writing this. It’s kind of experimental and me practicing different things, but I figured I could share it. I have no clue where all of this is headed, so buckle up and enjoy the ride with me! Tell me what you think!

He had always been the hero. He was the one that busted in through double doors, knocked glass out of windows with his elbow, made the final shot to the big bad. Dean was so used to being the one that saved the world that he didn't know how to respond when he was the one that needed saving. 

He couldn't discern that the dull ache in his chest that left him feeling hollow like dead bones was all that remained of his heartbreak. He thought he could fill it with bourbon and whiskey, but the bitter taste of alcohol was nothing compared to the bitterness that lingered in his heart. 

He painted his pain with anger, hoping that it would give him purpose. He danced with it, dressing it in black velvet and polyester organza, holding it in his arms like a trophy. He dove into it, expecting it to move like water in a chilly creek, and became incensed when it refused to shift through his strokes.

He held it in his hands and called it courage, livid as he realized it was coated in a thin layer of sticky ooze called fear. Rage couldn't cover the betrayal as that pain spread through his veins, tainting the obedient muscles of his legs and the folds of his brain.

Monsters became the canvas and his fists became the brush. He believed he was an artist creating a masterpiece of blood and bile. The truth of his pain skipped through his mind. Like a pebble over a lake, it refused to sink into the depths of his thoughts. 

He propelled forward, desperate for action and suspense, for the thrill of the hunt, and the praise that came with grateful damsels and impressed gents. It was all he had that kept him afloat. Because as soon as his lungs had a moment to fill, his mind would wander. 

If he allowed calm to settle over him, her voice would ring in his ears like aluminum wind chimes on a breezy evening. He would see her eyes in the bottom of a glass of whiskey, warm and shimmery like amber. He would breathe in the hint of vanilla and rose that she wore at the base of her throat.

He missed her. He missed the way her skin, honey gold, would feel so soft under the weathered callouses of his hands. He missed the way her lips would twitch when she pretended she was angry at him and struggled to stifle her laugh. The brassy sound of her cackles when she laughed a little too hard at her own jokes was all it would take to ignite a rueful bliss in his throat. 

Love knew nothing until she arrived in the world, and from the moment she left, Dean knew nothing of love. Love wasn't kind or gentle to him. Love was the thing that ripped him apart, left him a shell of who he used to be. Love evaporated like milk and hatred took its place on the throne. 

He couldn't bring himself to hate her, but he hated himself for letting her go. He resented the happiness in her voice on the voicemails she left. He resented his brother for making him feel like he had no other choice but to care for him. He resented Bobby for bringing her into his life so many moons ago. He resented Cas for not being there to stop her. He resented his heart for refusing to let her go.

Dean sighed and let his hand fall outside the window of the Impala, content with the slice of air through his fingers as he drove. Headlights lit the dark road ahead that led to her, illuminating the puddles of water left behind by the recent rain. It was a comfort to know that he wasn't the only one feeling the dull pangs of loss and enmity. 

Just as the sky cracked open, releasing the rain from the clouds, the only way he knew to heal was to lay out his bleeding heart for her to devour. She broke his heart, but she was also the remedy. In a world where he had always done the saving, she was his messiah, and he questioned if she would be willing to lay down her peace to gift him with his.

It was a cruel thing to ask, but leaving him was her cruelty. She left because she didn't believe he would choose her over the world, and maybe she had been right. Dean shoved his foot into the accelerator and hoped he wasn't too late; as time progressed and seasons changed, he realized she was his world, and he wasn't ready to abandon it.


End file.
